Page 87 of Quiet Obsession
“You already made me hurt you once,” he spits out, tearing himself away from me. “I’m not letting you do it again.”
I sit up, shuddering all over when he starts for the door,his shoulders squared, every muscle tense. My cheeks burn as I adjust my clothes, biting my lip.
He spins when he’s almost at the door, eyes roving me up and down. “I won’t be your fucking monster.”
And he’s gone, slamming the door behind him. I stare after him, still burning up, still turned on, humiliated, and horrified.
I feel sick. I want to scream, but my voice is gone, stolen by red-hot anger. Maybe that’s why everyone underestimates me. Because I’m quiet and careful, hiding in my room, beneath oversized clothes, always at the edge of everyone’s attention.
Almost blending with the background.
People associate silence with shyness and I’m not shy anymore. I was, back when Hyde started avoiding me. I searched for the reason inside, rather than outside, and decided that my smiles and happiness annoyed him.
For a while, I did a one-eighty for him, grew up in a matter of weeks, made myself small and quiet, hoping he’d let me back in. He didn’t, not until my overdose, and I grew bubbly again... then completely silent once Evan crackedmeopen.
I have no idea who I am anymore.
The only person who makes me feel strong just slammed the door, refusing to give me what I need. I press the heel of my hand to my sternum, my chest tight, breath faltering as anxiety fills my system. Even Creed thinks our writhing, erotic, painful battlewas wrong and shouldn’t ever happen again.
What does it say about me that I still want more?
27
Millie
I pull on a hoodie as I exit the North Wing, the early-morning air cool against my overheated skin.
I woke up half an hour ago, absolutely soaked.
Abby was snoring in her bed when I slipped my hand into my panties and made myself come while recalling the dream. Creed grasping my hips, his chest brushing my back while I stared into Noah’s eyes, both men moving together, in sync, inside me.
I wish one of them would in real life, but Creed’s been avoiding me since that late-night kiss. I’m trying not to push but my dreams make it damn near impossible.
I miss him. I miss the person I am with him.
It makes no sense, really.
We’ve barely exchanged enough words to fill a page, but words feel irrelevant when his presence alone quietssomething inside me that never stops screaming otherwise.
Every sentence he speaks, every look he sends my way, every gesture and frown deepens the unexplainable connection.
The gym’s empty. No sign of Creed despite the clock reading five-thirty. He should be here, but he’s obviously going out of his way to make sure we don’t cross paths.
I tell myself the squeeze in my chest isn’t disappointment.
I tell myself his absence doesn’t matter.
I tell myself I didn’t come here for him.
I tell myself a lot of lies lately.
Glancing between the punching bags and the treadmills, I wonder what to do with myself.
Throwing punches helped last time, but maybe it’s the side I should repress. Creed sure thinks I’m messed up for wanting his roughness, and maybe he’s right.
It can’t be healthy that I crave his dominance, take every punishing thrust and stinging bite, and don’t fall apart. Still, there’s a twisted pride in it. If I can endure him at his worst and not shatter, then I’m not as fragile as everyone believes.
Exhaling a deep breath, I drop my bag by the treadmills and put my headphones on, starting with a light jog. I’ve been grappling with everything, beating myself up over making Creed lose the control he clearly hates losing, the kiss with Noah, Abby’s tears when she saw my bruises, my brother’s scrutiny...
